One More Night
by mangochi
Summary: John notices a sexbot with eyes just like a certain android's. John/OMC, John/Dorian
1. Chapter 1

The male sexbot has bright blue eyes and smooth skin, and John finds it difficult to pull away. "Not interested," he mutters, brushing the wandering hand aside with a pained determination. "Sorry," he feels obliged to add, then immediately feels stupid afterwards. The bang bot couldn't care less about being rejected by John; chances are that he's already spotted his next target.

He can't help but turn and watch the bot sashay towards an unassuming man perched a little ways down the bar, leather-clad hips swinging in a way that was still distinctively masculine despite the ridiculous strut. He suddenly wonders if Dorian can walk like that, and he aggressively downs another shot before the thought can completely manifest.

Of course Dorian can walk like that, his mind treacherously belches out anyway. Dorian can do anything. All John has to do is ask, maybe casually mention seeing the bot in the bar that night with the sky-blue eyes and familiar quick grin...

He takes another shot, relishing the mind-numbing burn that fills his brain with pleasant static for all of twenty seconds.

He's an asshole, he thinks gloomily afterwards, squinting at the empty glass in his hand sadly. The bartender's calling the last round now, and he slides a credit chip along the counter before pushing away from the bar, only swaying slightly. He's ridiculously proud of himself for managing to get to the door beside himself, so proud that he doesn't realize the door scanners are beeping at him before the bouncer catches him by the shoulder.

"You're a mite over the levels there, buddy," the man informs him sympathetically, jerking his head at the display panel in the doorframe. John squints at his blood alcohol concentration, berating himself morosely.

"You got someone to pick you up?"

No, he doesn't. Except Maldonaldo….but he doesn't think that's quite what she meant when she slid over her comm number to him and told him very seriously that if he ever needed help, she was there. Not this kind of help, he surmises.

Dorian would come, he knows. But Dorian's off with Rudy now, maybe even at another bar, the android probably watching the other man making a right fool of himself around those sexbots. Maybe Dorian's found a nice bot himself- could they even get it on? John didn't know, he'd have to ask next time…..maybe Dorian might even let him-

"Sir?"

John jerks himself out of his drunken daze and pulls his arm away roughly. "Gotta make a call," he mutters, pulling his comm out of his pocket and dialing before he can talk himself out of it.

To his surprise, Dorian answers on the first ring, sounding almost….harried, for whatever reason. "John?"

"Hey." He suddenly feels awkward, standing there with his back to the bouncer and the beginning waves of a truly terrible headache building up behind his eyes. "Are you…" He can hear the faintest strains of tinkling voices in his ear. "Who's that?"

"Rudy." Dorian lowers his voice into a carefully moderated whisper. "He's got some...friends…over."

"Oh. Oh, then, should I-" John pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes woozily. "Never mind."

"Are you all right, John?"

No. No, he really isn't.

"I'm fine." He hangs up before Dorian can respond and briefly debates the merits of passing out. Not worth it, he decides, staring down at the suspiciously stained floorboards.

"Sir, I can call an escort for you," the bouncer's saying politely, and John's shaking his head firmly before he can regret the sudden motion. His head spins, and he grits his teeth and tries to say clearly, "I'm fine." The last thing he needs is for another cop, and God forbid it be _Paul_, of all people, to show up and see him like this.

The bouncer looks about ready to snap him in half and call the escort anyway, so John scans desperately over the heads of the crowd for some form of escape. His eyes light upon the sexbot from before, leaning against the bar next to the man from before with its elbows on the counter and its long legs crossed lazily at the ankles. As John watches, the bot tilts his head back, exposing the line of his throat, and laughs, a perfectly executed sound that somehow manages to sound more genuine than the real thing.

John's chest suddenly feels tight, his stomach fluttering with the oncoming sensation of a very bad decision. Then the bot looks at him, a straight, piercing stare that John, in his inebriated state, can't help but feel is intentional.

"I'm with my bot," he hears himself saying, gesturing vaguely towards the sexbot. "We'll be right out of here in a sec."

The bouncer looks over skeptically in the direction of John's wavering finger. The sexbot's now trailing his fingers through his target's thinning hair, smiling and nodding at whatever flustered line the man is undoubtedly flubbing. "You always keep that loose a leash on your bots?"

"That's my own damn business," John snaps, giving the man the best glare he can muster under these circumstances. "You gonna let us out or what?"

The bouncer takes a step back, gives him an considering once-over. He doesn't look like an idiot, this one, and John can tell that he's not fooled one bit. But, not being an idiot, the guy clearly understands just how much more trouble causing a scene would be than just letting the drunk guy stagger off into the night, and he nods. "All right. Go get your bot."

Ah. Somehow, John's fuzzy mind hasn't quite managed to make it that far yet. He jerks a brusque nod, then makes his way across the crowded floor to the bar. The bartender gives him a wary glance, but he ignores him and stops in front of the sexbot instead.

"Hey."

The bot looks at him, and John's struck again by those damn eyes, that full mouth that quirks just right at the corners.

"Hey, man," the bot says casually, and John feels something clench hard and painfully inside of him. "You looking to play?"

"Yeah," John says, ignoring the man clearing his throat pointedly beside him. "Yeah, I am."

...

"You got a name?" John gasps, as the sexbot mouths at the side of his neck teasingly. He's leaving behind a warm wet trail as he works his way along John's jaw- one of the higher end models, John thinks distractedly as the bot nips at his chin.

"You can call me whatever you want," the sexbot informs him helpfully, blue eyes hooded.

_Dorian_.

John's fingers tighten on the bot's arms, dimpling the synthetic muscle. "No," he says hoarsely. _It's not him_.

The sexbot cocks his head at him, as if faintly curious by John's response, then the corner of his mouth lifts in an amused smile. "I'm Adam."

"Adam," John repeats dazedly, his breath hitching in surprise when the bot- Adam- leans forward and presses him back against the hotel wall, pinning his wrists to the smooth surface behind him with ease.

"How do you want me?" Adam murmurs into the hollow beneath John's ear, his breath cooler than a human's across John's skin.

"Like this," John groans, feeling a thrill of pleasure despite how thoroughly smashed he is, and he presses his body against the bot's. "However you want it, just- _now_."

"All right," Adam agrees amicably, his picture-perfect smile still dancing as he gives his hips a slow, deliberate roll. John bites back a seriously embarrassing noise, his chest heaving beneath the bot's, and his hands twitch involuntarily against the wall, wanting to tear at those ridiculous clothes.

"Just make me forget," he thinks he says then, but it all goes a little fuzzy from there afterwards.


	2. Chapter 2

Adam's touches are too damn gentle, just the way John thinks Dorian's would be, and thinking that hurts him more than any bruising grip ever will.

"Harder," he grunts, trying to rock forward as Adam's hand slides teasingly along the front of his pants, palming at John's erection through the fabric. "Come on-"

"You told me I could," Adam says plaintively, ignoring John's attempts to pull him closer. "You gave me permission." He slides his fingers, artificially warm and so careful that John could cry from the frustration, under John's shirt, exploring quivering skin and skating lightly across his ribs. "'However you want it,'" he says in John's voice, husky and deep in his ear. "Right?"

John feels his pulse racket up a few more notches- he can pretend for a moment that it's Dorian whispering against his neck, teasing him with his own voice- _"I know that makes you hard, John, hearing yourself like thi-"_

"John?" Adam says questioningly, when he doesn't respond, and John forces his eyes open shakily.

"I'm fine," he says roughly, winding his arms around the sexbot's neck and pulling him close, pressing his face into Adam's shoulder and smelling the spicy scent of his too-smooth skin. "Take your clothes off."

Adam grips his elbows, turning their bodies so that John's knees press against the bed and he collapses backwards in a clumsy heap on the mattress. His prosthetic leg locks briefly in complaint, but his curses die unvoiced in his throat when he tips his head back and sees Adam.

The bot's standing a couple of feet away from the end of the bed, crossing his arms at the hem of his too-tight shirt and teasing the fabric up slowly. John can only stare as the expanse of bronzed muscle is revealed inch by inch, his eyes tracing the lines and angles of the bot's body.

"Like that?" Adam breathes, the tip of his tongue flicking at the corner of his mouth as he speaks, and John swallows dryly.

"Yeah," he croaks, hands itching to pull off his own clothes, but his brain too dazed to do anything about it. "Yeah, that's...that's good."

Adam tosses his shirt in the corner, his abdomen flexing lazily with the motion, and runs a hand casually through his short-cropped hair. It's light in color, almost golden, and John is as grateful for the difference as he is disappointed.

Then Adam's hands are slipping to the front of his pants, and then he's _peeling _the damn things off, that infuriating grin stretched across his face all the while as he lifts one leg, then the other, from the restricting leather.

John's attention is briefly captivated by what stands prominently between Adam's legs, a sudden flicker of doubt racing through him. It's been way too damn long since the last time, and it's _huge_.

"Like what you see?" Adam places his hands on his hips coyly, and John jerks a discoordinated nod in response.

"C'mere," he said gruffly, spreading his legs so the bot can stand between his knees. Adam comes obediently, and John wraps shaking fingers against those narrow hips, thumbs circling absently as he considers the truly mammoth task before him.

"You don't have to," Adam says, and John can't tell if it's the bot's programming or if he truly doesn't want John to try. He feels fingers playing in the short hair at the nape of his neck, Adam's hands warm and steady against the skin above his collar, and it's the constancy that persuades him.

"I want to," he says, then presses his lips lightly to the head of Adam's cock.

It doesn't taste as bad as he was expecting, but definitely more dry than he expected. He adds his tongue, trying to slick it up in preparation for the slide down, and gets a little squeeze on the back of his neck.

"I am capable of providing my own lubrication," Adam informs him, sounding almost quizzical. "It's really unnecessary, John."

"Shut up," John grumbles. "Damn it," he adds, realizing there's no way he can get the whole thing in his mouth, unless he has some sort of depraved death wish.

What a way to go, he thinks hysterically, pulling off and frowning in displeasure.

Adam's head is tilted, his fingers still tugging absently at John's hair. "You're odd," he says matter-of-factly.

"What, am I too weird for you?" John asks, fidgeting as Adam's hands move to fiddle at his shirt collar.

"I like weird," Adam assures him blithely. "Arms up."

John raises his arms, letting the bot pull off his shirt. The hotel room's warm, almost unbearably so, but he still shivers when the air sweeps across his suddenly exposed skin. Adam makes such an appreciative sound that John has to doubt its sincerity, but his pulse races faster anyway and he can practically feel his blood rushing downward beneath his rapidly tightening pants.

"Let me," Adam says, and John looks up in time to see the sexbot descending upon him, throwing a leg casually over John's thighs and straddling over his lap. He can't hold back a low groan when Adam rubs deliberately against him, resting his hands on John's shoulders for better leverage as he slowly grinds his hips forward and down.

"You want me to take you, John?" Adam asks conversationally, his eyes locked on John's face as he rocks again and the man cries out from beneath him. 'You want me to hold you down and take you hard….make you forget?"

"Shit," John hisses, his own hands scrabbling helplessly across Adam's back as the bot squeezes his knees around his hips and drives down harder. There's a wandering hand snaking between them, thumbing open the front of his pants and sliding down, down- "Please-'

"Or," Adam whispers, his lips brushing John's earlobe as he speaks, "do you want to fuck me instead?" He stills his hips, and John makes a torn sound of protest as he tries to grind forward into nothing.

"Damn it-"

"What'll it be?" Adam presses a light kiss to a drop of sweat working its way down the side of John's forehead, his tongue tracing its path teasingly. His fingers mirror his actions, tickling John's waistband in the most horribly foreshadowing way. John closes his eyes, listening to the sound of his own ragged breathing and wondering how his night came to this.

"Want you to…."

"Hmm?"

John's eyes snap open and he reaches out, pulling Adam's face down roughly to his own and pressing their foreheads together. All he can see now is blue, the trace of circuitry within gleaming silver and bright, and his heart flops again with an aching lurch. "Want you to fuck me," he rasps, and he swears that he sees those glowing irises darken.

Adam's hands move to grip his waist, rolling him over onto his stomach and tugging at the rest of his clothing until they join his shirt somewhere on the floor. John wants to protest at the manhandling, pushing himself up indignantly onto his elbows, but then Adam's hand is trailing down his back, palm flattening over the curve of his spine in an affectionate gesture that makes him want to melt into the mattress.

It's little wonder, he thinks fuzzily, that people keep coming back to sexbots after the first time. There's something liberating about it, a loosening of boundaries and discipline that takes the tension right out of his bones and even alleviates the constant ache in his right leg, if only slightly. His prosthetic buzzes pleasantly when Adam's hand reaches the curve of his thigh, thumb digging gently into the crease between his leg and torso, and he issues a frustrated groan.

"Get on with it," he grunts into the sheets, then flinches in surprise when Adam rolls him onto his side, hooking an arm beneath his left knee and spreading him open. His cock bounces against his stomach at the sudden movement, and he struggles to breathe when Adam scoots closer to slide between his legs, the fingers of his free hand skimming across John's chest and abdomen.

"Want to touch you," Adam murmurs, perfectly scripted lines that don't fail to wring a shudder of anticipation from John anyway. "You're so good….so warm, John." He grips John's hardness in a loose clasp, the slight friction of his palm the worst kind of torment, and gives him a long, slow pump that has John's toes curling in the sheets.

"Adam," John growls, the name flat and unfamiliar on his tongue but still something to say nevertheless. Adam's hands are distracting as hell, fingers slicking up seemingly on their own with whatever the bot is secreting, and the hot slide of his grip is too much, too soon, he wants _more_, damn it.

"If you don't do _something_, I swear, I've got a friend who specializes in taking bots apart-" He cuts off with a decidedly unflattering noise when Adam promptly pushes his legs farther apart and pushes a slippery fingertip against John's entrance, sliding in with such little resistance that John briefly contemplates his folly in not doing this years ago. The burn is there, but it's _good_, and Adam handles his body better than any human partner he's ever had.

"Good?" Adam prompts cheerfully, in a way that no man should while working open another man's ass. John tries to relax around the intrusion, pressing the side of his face into the mattress and breathing sharply through his nose.

"You never gave me full instructions, John," Adam continues. _Oh God, a talker, _John thinks manically, then bites his lip when Adam adds another finger, sliding in and out with a maddening casualness. "But you don't seem like the talkative type. Is it okay if I perform my own analysis of your preferences?"

"I don't care," John grumbles, swallowing a shaky moan when Adam runs the flat of his thumb around his stretched rim, nudging the tip in slightly and smiling at John's expression.

"You like my eyes," Adam breathes, knuckling John's perineum and watching with satisfaction when John swears through his tight gasps. "You keep looking at them. I can look at you, if you want, John. I like you. I love you." He leans forward, bracing himself on one arm to kiss the side of John's neck. "Love you so much," he breathes, and John closes his eyes and tries to believe it.

He's a sad, pathetic wreck by the time Adam pulls his fingers out, his breath hitching in a groan of protest at the sudden emptiness, and he almost opens his eyes. He feels Adam's hands rearranging him, folding his legs almost to his chest and spreading his knees open. The warm air is suddenly ridiculously cold, and he instinctively tries to close his legs, heart pounding.

"It's okay," Adam murmurs, holding him in place, blue eyes steady on his and John dies a little bit every time he sees them. "It's okay, John." He leans forward, sprawls along John's body, and John bites back a shaky sigh. "You can forget for tonight."

John wraps his arms around Adam's shoulders and presses his face to the smooth skin of his throat. He doesn't taste like metal or salt, and it's the nothingness that John needs at that moment.

The first breach hurts around the edges, like the corona to the pleasure that burns so addictively that he can't tell the difference. He loses the air in his lungs and struggles to get it back, panting loosely into the hollow of Adam's neck as the bot slows and pushes all the way in, whispering words into John's ear that he can't hear through the pounding of his blood.

"Faster," he thinks he hears himself say, digging his heels into the small of Adam's back. "More."

"I love you, John," Adam repeats, silencing his ragged voice with a melting kiss. John can barely reciprocate, his mouth open and slack as the pain settles into a numb wave, Adam's cock sitting heavy and full inside of him. There's no throbbing pulse, no blazing heat, but he can almost cry from the goodness of it.

"Breathe," Adam murmurs against his mouth, smoothing the skin over John's hips with his thumbs. John wrenches his head to the side, gasping in a strangled breath as his body struggles against the invasion and suddenly, abruptly, gives up.

The pleasure is almost enough to knock him out. It's less the act itself than the surrender that comes with it, the relief that numbs his mind and fills it with white static that obliterated all reason, all thought. It's a form of ecstasy that he knows he can get addicted too all too easily, but that doesn't stop him from grinding back and panting into Adam's shoulder when the bot curls his hips off the mattress and thrusts deeper.

A hand peels from his hip to wrap around his hard length, squeezing and stroking in counterpoint to the thrusts slowly edging him up the mattress. John can taste copper on his tongue, his blood or just Adam, he doesn't know. "John," the bot's muttering in his ear, in time with his thrusts, a perfect approximation of a perfect lover. "John, you're so good. So beautiful. I love you, love you-"

John turns his head with difficulty, rubbing against Adam's throat until he bends his head and kisses him, catching John's lip between his teeth with the right amount of scraping and tugging. "Who am I?" he whispers, and if John gasps out another name into his mouth as he jerks and comes with a violent shudder across the bot's knuckles, Adam doesn't say a word.

Adam gives him a few more long strokes through his orgasm, hips rolling lazily until John groans and pushes at him feebly. He feels his body flop back into the bed, damp and hot and boneless as Adam withdraws carefully, sending another muted zing through his exhausted system.

John blinks up at him drowsily through his lashes, noting the pleased expression on his face when he reaches out and lays a cool hand against John's cheek, thumbing at the corner of his mouth and pulling it into a reluctant smile. "That's better," Adam says softly, his own mouth curling pleasantly. "You look good like that, John."

"Mm." John stares up at the ceiling, watching it spin and shift. The room's tipping pleasantly around him, and he knows he's well on the way to full unconsciousness. It's going to be a hell of a morning, he thinks apprehensively.

Adam's still kneeling beside him, his knees dimpling the mattress, and John doesn't really have the heart to tell him to stop running his hands through his hair like that. "How much," he manages to mumble, catching the bot's wrist and marveling at the technology that makes the skin dimple beneath his fingers.

The hand still buried in his hair stills, one thumb caressing the rim of John's ear in an utterly distracting manner. "Dorian, is it?"

Tired as he is, John's chest still manages to constrict feebly at the name. Adam hasn't answered his question yet, and he thinks that it's more than a little odd, but the hand's resumed its combing now. He closes his eyes helplessly and just rides along. "Yeah," he thinks he answers, his words slurred. "Dorian."

"Must be a good guy."

"Mm."

"You're a good guy, John." Something brushes his forehead. "Most people don't ask."

He's already fallen behind. "What?"

"My name."

When John wakes up the next morning, sticky and sore with a headache bad enough to make him wish for his gun, Adam's gone and there's a card on his stomach, stuck to the mess on his skin. It's a comm number and a picture of golden hair and blue eyes, mouthing a suggestive, "Call me again."

He can't help but laugh when he later finds that he's not missing a single credit.

...

**A/N: I kind of wonder if you can guess who Adam's based off of.**


	3. Chapter 3

"John?" Dorian's voice is low, concerned, his sleeve brushing against John's as he leans over, and John tears his eyes off the smoky silhouettes across the dim bar.

"What?" he asks, busying himself with taking another swig from his already half empty glass. He can't help but glance up again, but the glimpse of blond hair is gone, or maybe it wasn't ever there to begin with. "Ah, hell," he mumbles aloud without thinking, and Dorian deliberately jostles his elbow this time.

"John, what's wrong?"

"Thought I saw someone I knew," he answers grudgingly, thinking it's better to stick as close to the truth as possible while completely steering clear of it. Denial's been his partner in crime for a long time, and old habits are hard to break. "I didn't."

"Who is it?"

John shoves back thoughts of blue eyes and large hands and a calling card that he hasn't quite brought himself to throw away yet. "Nobody."

Dorian looks dissatisfied, but he sits back on his stool and watches John down the rest of his glass. "Where were you that night?"

"What are you talking about?" John feigns a slur in his words to cover his sudden panic.

"Last week when you called me," Dorian says more slowly. "You said you were fine, but you weren't. What happened?"

"Hey, we've been through this." John points a finger at him, and he's proud that it doesn't waver too much. "This is called invasion of privacy, and we don't do that, okay?"

Dorian ignores him. "Did something happen? You've been off ever since-"

"I'm fine. I was fine then, I'm fine now." John looks away and thinks for a moment that he sees someone watching him in the crowd, tall and built with broad shoulders and- no, he's got to stop this. Just because he slept with the bot once and woke up with a card doesn't make him special, doesn't make him exclusive, doesn't make him anything but a client. But Adam didn't take any money, and maybe that's why John's been looking for him unconsciously ever since. Because that's not something a sexbot would do, or any other synthetic- it's something Dorian would do, and that hurts more than any other possibility he can imagine.

"John?"

"I'm-" His next words die on his lips when he turns and realizes it isn't Dorian who called his name.

"Adam."

And there he is, standing there in leather-clad glory and smiling easily as the pulsing lights bounce off his face and hair. His eyes are glittering, the skin around them crinkling as his grin widens at the sight of John's dumbfounded face. "You remember."

"John," Dorian says, very quietly, and John can't look at him. Not now.

Adam looks, though, and his face seems to light up in recognition. "Hey, you must be Dorian."

Shit. John scrambles to do damage control, talking before his brain can catch up. "What are you- why- I thought-" The calling card is practically burning in his inside pocket. This isn't the place, not with so many other people around and Dorian sitting too still, too quiet beside him. He's getting flustered the longer the silence draws out, his heart picking up speed and sweat beginning to bead on his temples from the overwarm air. "Come with me," he says abruptly, standing and pushing away from the bar.

"John!" Dorian says again, and this time John looks down. Dorian's staring up at him, confused and questioning and, somewhere behind all that, a spark of realization is growing. He's gotta get out of here before that happens, John decides wildly, and he reaches out to snag the edge of Adam's jacket.

"Let's go," he grits out. "I'll just be a sec," he says to Dorian, who doesn't look for one moment that he buys it, but hopefully- please, John prays- he'll stay at the bar.

Adam follows along happily as John drags him to a back exit, shoulders the metal door open and all but hurls the sexbot out into the alley. It's narrow and dark, the brick walls rising high above them to a strip of starry sky, and his breath plumes in the air when he slams the door behind them and turns around to face the bot.

"You didn't call," Adam says immediately, sounding magnificently disappointed. "I was waiting."

John throws up his hands. "Why?" he demands. "It's not your job to be waiting, you're not supposed to still remember me! That's not what you do."

"Oh." Adam seems to consider it for a second. "Well, I remember. I waited. You were nice."

"I'm really not."

"You are," Adam insists. "What's my name, John?"

John blinks at the abrupt switch in topic, thrown off guard enough to answer, "Adam?"

"There!" Adam smiles at him triumphantly and steps closer. John backs up automatically, halting when he feels the cold wall scrape across his shoulders. "You remember me, so why should I forget you?"

"Because-" John splutters, eyes fixed on Adam as he advances. "Because you have to, it's your damn programming-"

"Boring," Adam murmurs. He's already there, a hand on John's chest and the other wandering dangerously down his side. John takes a deep breath, but that only brings Adam's touch closer, the bot swaying in close enough to kiss him if he moves just a centimeter more.

"Have you kissed him yet?" Adam breathes, and John swallows. His hands have inexplicably found their way to Adam's hips, and he curls his fingers slowly into the back of his shirt. "Did you think of me?"

"No, I….." John blinks, thinks vaguely of how ridiculous this is, but he doesn't move. He can't move, not pinned to the wall like this, but he doesn't know if he even wants to, and that's the worst of it. "I didn't," he says, and it's a lie, but it isn't. He thinks of Dorian, and blue eyes, and sometimes he dreams of hands, but he always wakes up before he sees who they belong to.

"Didn't kiss him or didn't think of me?" Their noses brush and John holds as still as he can, though his knees want to give out and shit, he has to get back to the bar soon before Dorian starts getting suspicious. Then again, who the hell does he think he's kissing, of course Dorian's suspicious already-

"Neither," he gasps, then grunts in something like surprise and resignation when Adam presses his lips to John's.

"I thought of you," Adam confesses, when he pulls back a second later. His eyes are darker in this non-light, and John suppresses a shudder of something that he absolutely refuses to identify as anticipation. "I don't know why."

"Damn it," John mutters, and he leans forward the last centimeter to kiss Adam again. The bot responds instantly, pressing John back against the wall with his hands and his hips, and a leg nudges its way in between John's before he can register the movement. His mouth falls open and Adam's tongue slides in eagerly, cool and dry but smooth and inviting, and John loses himself for a few tantalizing moments, his hands fisting in the fabric of Adam's shirt and dragging him closer, closer-

"John," Adam whispers against his mouth, and John's heart almost stops because that's Dorian's voice, Adam must have picked it up in those few seconds back in the bar, and suddenly any remaining resistance is gone in the wind. He's no longer sure who's pulling at whose clothes, but Adam's sucking on his tongue and grinding up with his leg, and John feels a low groan building in his chest that hitches when Adam's mouth moves down to bite at the side of his neck, his hand sliding up to grasp at John's hair-

The door slams open, and John barely has time to hear the echo of the impact before Adam's torn away from him, staggering back to land against the opposite wall. John blinks, still dazed, blinking spots from his eyes and raising an arm to his stinging mouth as Dorian interposes himself between them, practically bristling at the sexbot.

"Dorian, what the hell-"

"-do you think you're doing?" Dorian finishes calmly, though he looks anything but. John recognizes an aggressive stance when he sees once and he reaches out instinctively to grab Dorian's arm.

"Hey, knock it off," he says warningly, looking past Dorian's shoulder. "Adam, you all right?" He tries to circle around Dorian, but the android's arm shoots out to block his way. "Dammit, Dorian, stand down. He was just-"

"Who is he?" Dorian asks, and John's never heard him like this before. He shakes off the sudden unease and ducks under Dorian's arm.

"I'm fine," Adam assures him. There's a light scratch high on his cheek, silver goop glimmering at the edges, but his eyes are dancing and his smile has barely wavered. "Sorry about that."

"You didn't do anything wrong," John says, glancing back at Dorian warily. "I think you should go."

"Sure," Adam agrees amiably. He leans forward before John can pull away and gives him one last kiss on the cheek that barely serves to distract from the pat he gives next to John's ass. "Good luck," he mouths against John's jaw, then he's straightening and beaming around before turning and loping out of the alley. John watches him go, mouth still hanging open, though he remembers to close it once he hears Dorian shift behind him.

"Did you have sex with him?" Dorian asks, more plaintively than John expects. He turns around, dreading the expression on his partner's face, but it's completely blank, empty like an MX's.

"I didn't mean to," John answers, knowing it's not really the answer that Dorian wants. "It just….happened." As excuses go, it's pretty much the lamest of the lame, and it's all he's got right now. He shoves his hands in his pockets and tries to not look like his world's coming down around his ears.

Dorian's quiet for a second, then, "Should you go after him?"

John stares. "What?"

"If you're together, shouldn't you go after him?" Dorian says, his tone perfectly neutral. He could be pleased or ready to kill and John would have no idea. "I'm not apologizing, though," he adds, inexplicably.

John's shaking his head before Dorian even finishes speaking. "No, we're not like that. That was- that was a one time thing."

"Didn't look that way to me," Dorian says carefully, and John feels himself flushing.

"That wasn't-" he splutters. "I didn't know you were going to come barging in!"

"Would you have kept going if I hadn't shown up?" Dorian raises his eyebrows.

"No! Yes. I don't know. God." John scowls and scratches uncomfortably at the back of his neck. "It's got nothing to do with you." It's got everything to do with you, a tiny voice whispers traitorously in the back of his head before he squashes it out maliciously. "I'm not going after him."

"Don't you like him?" Dorian asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. "He likes you plenty, anyone can see that."

"I- I like him, but-"

"Then what's wrong? Is it because he's a sexbot?" There's a little edge in Dorian's voice now, and John hates it abruptly. "He's not human, so you can't love him like one?"

"No! No, it's not that." He can't explain, he can't, there's too much here he doesn't know, has never had any experience with before, and despite all his recklessness in the field, right now he's scared to hell of all the unknown variables at hand here.

"Then why-"

"He wasn't you!" John's voice rings off the brick walls, and Dorian stares at him. John swallows and leans heavily against the wall, resisting the urge to duck his head and look away. "He wasn't you," he says again, quieter this time. "But I- damn it, Dorian, I wished he was." He falls silent then, because he's said too much and yet not enough. Never enough, because he's never been a man of words, but words aren't enough to explain this anyway.

Dorian's still looking at him, his eyes unreadable in the darkness. A car horn sounds somewhere in the distance and John jumps a little. He's forgotten the world existed at all outside this alley, where it's just him and Dorian and a growing silence that's killing him slowly one second at a time.

"John." The one word is enough to snap John out of his pending misery, or at least back in the gray zone. Dorian's eyebrows are still drawn quizzically, his head tilted slightly to the left. "John, you have to explain. I don't know what you're saying." It's a huge feat for him to admit, John knows, because Dorian hates not knowing something fundamentally human.

"I can't." I sure as hell won't. "This isn't something you can just….just explain like that. That's not how it works."

"You wanted it to be me," Dorian says. "When you kissed him, you wanted him to be me."

"Whatever," John mutters feebly, staring at the gravel beneath his feet and wishing he was anywhere but here. He suddenly wonders where Adam is now and feels a momentary twinge of….guilt? Regret? He has no idea.

"Are you in love with me?"

John sucks in a breath and holds it, counting the seconds until his lungs start to strain.

"John, do you love me?" Dorian's voice is closer this time and John chances a glance upwards. It's a mistake, he realizes swiftly, but it's too late to backpedal and he's trapped against the wall.

His eyes are so fucking blue.

"I-" John croaks, his throat bone dry.

"Come on, just say it already." Dorian reaches out, takes his hand by the wrist carefully. His touch is light, tentative, and John closes his eyes to try and suppress the shivers shooting up his spine. "You're so difficult."

"Ass," John says, staring down at where Dorian's fingers touch his skin. He turns his hand slowly in minute twitches, touches his fingers to the underside of Dorian's wrist hesitantly.

"Come on," Dorian coaxes again.

"You're my partner," John snaps, masking embarrassment with annoyance. "I can't- we can't-"

Dorian drops his hand and John's heart plummets to his knees before he sees that Dorian's shoulders are shaking with barely suppressed laughter. "What," he says, sounding more surly than he likes, but still less than he feels.

"Nothing, it's not you, it's just- damn, man, you're something else." Dorian's still grinning, shaking his head in disbelief. "I just can't- of all the things, that's what's got you clammed up like this?"

John squints at him warily. It makes perfect sense to him, but obviously Dorian's got something completely different in mind. "Things like what?"

"I don't know, that I have a dick? That I'm a robot?" Dorian tosses out, but he sounds more amused than resentful. "But yeah, we also happen to be partners." He cracks up again and John feels truly stupid.

"None of that matters, you know," he tells Dorian's quivering form, thinking he should at least attempt to defend his quickly disintegrating pride. "I'm not kidding around with this."

"I know." Dorian's hand comes up to grab his again, properly this time below the wrist. "I'm sorry." He still looks amused, but his eyes are serious as he looks up at John and asks, "Can I kiss you?"

John makes a sound that's not quite a word, not really an answer, but Dorian gives a little nod like he's psyching himself up before leaning up and in. John has to bend his head to meet the kiss, and there's something weirdly thrilling about the way Dorian's other hand is curling sneakily around his waist to hold him in place.

His heart is pounding, he's getting dizzy from lack of oxygen, this is easily the most terrifying moment of his life because there's no way in hell that this is happening. Dorian can't be doing this right now, can't be kissing John in a dark alley behind a cop bar because it's too cliche, it's impossible, and God, John can't get enough of it.

He groans when Dorian pulls him forward, grinding against Dorian's hip and tangling his fingers in the fabric of his jacket to yank him closed. Dorian licks inside his mouth and catches John's lower lip between his teeth with an intensity that has John gasping, his eyes clenched shut helplessly as Dorian thoroughly possesses him.

"I love you," is all he can pant out when Dorian finally lets him get a breath in. He opens his eyes shakily, feels Dorian's forehead press against his, and he looks into endless blue. "Sorry."

"You're a moron," Dorian tells him, but his eyes are soft and the corners of his mouth are curling upwards in fond exasperation. "Why are you apologizing?"

John kisses him again, just for the hell of it, and spreads his feet wider to fit Dorian against him. Dorian grazes against him briefly, the pressure hot and wonderful and suddenly gone, and John makes a noise of complaint.

"Not here," Dorian says, but his grip is tight on John's body and his mouth twists wryly in a regretful smile. "It's not exactly the five-star establishment I had in mind."

"And I literally do not care," John informs him, taking the initiative and going right for his own pants. Dorian's fingers catch his hands, stopping him gently.

"You're not a one time thing," Dorian says, his voice low, and John feels briefly that his heart's vacated the premises and is flopping around pathetically somewhere around their feet. "I'm not sorry that I punched Adam."

Good luck, John suddenly remembers, and he grins. "Somehow, I don't think he minds."

…

Two Months Later

John sees the golden head bobbing down the street one night and pauses, one hand on the latch to the car door. A glimpse of blue eyes, the suggestion of a wink, and black leather hips disappear around the corner.

He's still wearing a faint smile when he slides in the car, and Dorian looks at him questioningly. "What?"

"Thought I saw someone," he answers nonchalantly, starting up the car. Dorian doesn't ask, but he leans over and places a strategic kiss at the corner of John's jaw before settling back into his seat. "Let's roll," he says seriously, but his mouth twitches and John gives a chuckle under his breath as they drive off into the night.


End file.
